Friday, December 5, 2014

Ad Hominem

On a mission of rescue, on a mission of hope, on a mission
of peace, everything is challenged.

___________________________________________

“Exfil
in three,” my lieutenant called out.

The people weren’t nearly ready; we’d
have to leave some of them behind. That was the fourth or fifth mission we’d
been on to save the white people from Indian or Chinese cities.

By that time, it didn’t matter to most of the
Sino-Indian people whether the white people were Slavic or not. They hated, and
found an outlet for their hate. The Russians had been gobbling up their
territory for forty years. They’d swoop in, take a city or province, and
subjugate the original inhabitants. Chinese and Indian culture was outlawed.
The people were given the worst jobs, their money was seized, their homes
vandalized and burned. Some of them left, fled. They made it to family living
outside of Russian-controlled territory, but they were impoverished. Millions
of refugees flooded into already struggling areas. The strain became too much.
The anger too great. The hurt too palpable.

The first incident was in Kumul in
northeastern China. A family of white missionaries was pulled out of their home
at night, marched into the city square, and beaten to death. They were British.
It didn’t
matter. They looked like the Russians so they were killed. The next incident
happened in New Delhi. A group of tech-company executives were dining out and
were pulled out of the restaurant. They survived the attack, but only barely.
Then it started happening everywhere. The anger about the Russian invasions had
been simmering for decades; it eventually boiled over into riots.

So they sent us in. Our job has been to
collect the white residents in Sino-Indian cities and get them to safety.
Usually we put them on a boat to Australia. This group was one of the last we’d get out. I don’t like
to think about how many we ended up leaving there. Once the war started… Well,
we didn’t really have a choice after that.

“Women
and children first,” I yelled to the mob. I know it’s an antiquated idea; I
don’t really care. I was in charge and that’s what I chose to do. Some of the
men fought, but my soldiers ‘persuaded’ them to stop.

We loaded the children and women onto the
plane. We loaded them like cargo, packing in as many as possible. Their flight
would be uncomfortable, but they would survive. I had my guys tracking the
number of people so we would still have room for the soldiers. We were able to
load all of the women and children and about thirty of the men. The rest of
them pushed and punched to try to get onto the plane. I whispered something to
one of my sergeants. He addressed the crowd with his powerful voice.

“Keep
fighting us and we’ll have to shoot you. That’s guaranteed. If you stop
fighting you might get out alive. Place your bets, men.”

One of them bet wrong. He charged the line
of soldiers while shouting nonsense. My sergeant pulled his sidearm, leveled,
and fired. He’s
always been a softy. The man crumpled to the ground clutching his bleeding leg.
The sergeant threw a medkit in his general direction. The rest of the crowd
pulled back.